Death And All His Friends
by gypsy rosalie
Summary: AU. Marvin is a hit-man for the Clamburg mafia, living in fear of his boss. Sent on an important mission  he finds himself falling for the girl he was hired to assassinate, which could result in disaster if his boss finds out. Charvin.
1. Cards on the Table

Disclaimer: I do not own Making Fiends or the characters, or the song 'Death and All His Friends'.

**A/N: I know I keep starting TOO MANY NEW FICS! At this rate I'll never finish any, but I have made myself a little pact: no more new Making Fiends fics until I finish some. I have only finished one out of my five million on the go!**

**Yeah, so, about this story, it is an AU about the mafia. There is a lot of OOC ness, in fact I think the only one who is fully in character in this is Mr Milk. And possibly Vendetta. The characters are probably in their late teens/early twenties, and Mr Milk in his forties.**

**The title, Death and All His Friends, is from a Coldplay song I am particularly obsessed with, although the actual story has nothing to do with it. At all. **

**Also, I have gone over to the dark side. There is a bit of Marion/Mort in this. You all have yourselves to blame.**

**I'd better stop rambling and get on with this before the Author's Note reaches a thousand words, yeah?**

* * *

**I**

_Cards on the Table_

The plastic of the cards felt sticky in his sweaty palm. He gazed at his hand. Two jacks, a queen and some other rubbish cards. He had no chance.

'Come on, Marvin! You in or out?'

Marvin looked up at his two friends, whose eyes were fixed on him.

'I fold.' He slammed his cards face down on the table and took a drag on his cigarette. Malachi and Mort showed theirs. He wouldn't have won anyway.

'It beeth not thine night, eh?' Malachi said, scraping the coins across the table and pocketing them.

'Didn't take that from the boss's stash, did you?' Mort inquired of Marvin, eyeing the cigarette jealously as his friend raised it to his mouth.

'I'm not in a suicidal mood.' Marvin flicked it, and a clump of smouldering ash was sent skittering across the basement floor.

'Our days are numbered anyway,' Mort groaned. 'With Vendetta's new fiend-making skills, it'll only be a matter of time before we're no longer needed. We'll be replaced for sure.' A hush fell over the three young men, who shuddered.

Malachi drained his Manhattan in one gulp- an unusual occurrence, as he rarely touched liquor.

'Dost…thou think she shalt…'

Mort nodded solemnly.

'Oh, for goodness sake!' Marvin's chair squeaked and thumped over backwards as he stood up. 'We're Vendetta's best men! No-one gets a job done better than us- we've got nothing to worry about!'

But even as the words left his mouth, he didn't quite believe them.

The door slammed open. The gangsters froze as a chunky grey creature, wobbling on its fat little legs, plodded up, placing a note n the table and waddling out. They gathered around, craning their necks to read the thin, sloping handwriting that scratched through the paper:

_Milk's debt is due._

_Collect it or bring me his head._

_You have twelve hours._

The note was signed with a spiky _**V**_, which sent a chill down their spines.

Mort was the first to speak.

'I suppose…we'd better…'

'Verily.'

'Mm.'

They stood to leave, donning their coats, hats and dark glasses. Marvin sighed, and taking a hesitant look over his shoulder, reluctantly picked up his revolver and pocketed it on his way out.

* * *

The haze of several cigars clouded the low-hanging lights, and jazz music filled their ears as Marvin, Malachi and Mort shuffled into the room, hands in their pockets.

A band, consisting mainly of horns and saxophones played, accompanying the stage performers, as groups of twos and threes clustered around tables, slurring to each other.

From behind Mort's dark glasses, his eyes widened, and he took an entranced step towards the stage.

A curvy female singer had taken the stage, an array of coloured feathers in her blue hair, dressed in a sequined outfit that showed off her voluptuous figure.

Opening her plump mouth, she struck a pose and began to sing.

'Come on, lover boy,' Marvin yanked him by his collar and brought his attention back to the task at hand.

'The time shalt be right for to gaze at temptresses, but the present we must fulfil our duty and forget the wenches,' Malachi concurred.

They ambled across the back of the club, where a frail, middle-aged man, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

Malachi cleared his throat.

'Oh my!' The man jumped. 'You're…_her_ agents, aren't you?'

Marvin leaned across the bar counter. For some reason, he always had to play the role of the spokesperson, the bad guy. He hated it, but what could he do? Resist Vendetta's orders and his neck was on the line.

'I'm afraid, Mr. Milk, your debt is due today. My book states you owe the sum of…'

He checked his black notebook. '…One thousand dollars. Plus ten percent interest.'

Mr Milk turned even paler than he already was, and habitually ran his hand over his sweating bald patch.

'Oh, but…' he rubbed his shaking hands together, 'I really don't have…'

'Thou understandeth,' Malachi dived in, relieving Marvin of the burden, 'that thou has less than twelve hours in which to return thy favour. Thou knowest the wrath of the fiendmaker.'

Mr Milk pulled open the till, eyes scanning the collection of notes and coins.

'Well…t-the hundred in there will cover the interest, b-but…the rest… all my life-savings…I was gonna buy an engagement ring for Ms Minty the schoolteacher…'

Marvin's heart went out to this poor man, trying to lead a simple life, who had somehow gotten mixed up in this awful Vendetta business.

'Sorry, Milk,' he said, hiding behind is tone of voice. 'It's the ring money, or your head on a plate for Vendetta.'

He thrust the banknotes at Marvin, who counted them. One thousand, one hundred exactly. Marvin pocketed it, grateful the man had paid up. He'd never yet had to kill someone for non-payment, but they'd all heard stories of what happened to hit-men who couldn't bring themselves to carry out the boss's orders.

The trio hustled out again, shoulders slumped forward in what they intended to be a menacing sort of gait.

_Sorry, _Marvin thought as they started off down the alleyway. _Sorry it had to be this way._

At least Mr Milk was out of the loop. Finished with his debt, he could start anew, build a home, maybe a family. Things Marvin could only dream of. He could do nothing. He too was under Vendetta's iron fist, but his position was far more permanent.

* * *

**And there you are, the first chapter. Whaddya think?**

**I promise, I promise, I will put new chapters up for ****Dangerous ****and ****Charlotte Potter**** soon. That is high up on my priority list. And I vow, NO MORE NEW FICS! For a while. Wow, I think in total, the author's notes were longer than the story part of this chapter! Longer chapters are coming.**


	2. The Showgirl

Disclaimer: I do not own Making Fiends. If I did, I would buy some expensive things and make some more episodes.

**A/N: I'm not entirely happy with the title of this story. Anyone with ideas for titles please PM them to me or review (ding!) and I will put them in a poll.**

* * *

**II**

_The Showgirl_

Mort always felt a little embarrassed, standing in the passageway as half-dressed girls pushed past. He leaned against the filthy wall, eyes on the wooden door with the gold star, waiting for it to open. Ever so slowly, it creaked inwards, and a smoky blue finger beckoned him in.

'You were here yesterday, weren't you?' Marion said as he shut the door behind him and faced her dressing room. She was fixing a collection of feathers to her hair in front of a mirror framed with light bulbs.

'Mr Milk had to pay up.'

'I heard.' She turned to face him. 'It's not right.'

'What's not?'

'This. Any of this. The fact that you have to risk life and limb, not to mention doing dirty deeds and blackmailing people, so that monster can keep raking it in.\

Mort sighed.

'We should leave Clamburg, maybe go to Canada. We'll pack up and sneak out of town late at night, you'll never have to take orders from her again..'

'M-Marion…' he swallowed. 'We can't. I want to, really I do. I wish I could, but…I know too much. She'd kill me if I tried. I mean, there's no telling what she'd do to you, if…'

Marion reached out a finger and shushed him. 'But surely if we go far enough…'

'She'd find us. She always does. I've heard what happens to people who walk out…she can track anyone down, anywhere, with those fiends. Her spies are everywhere.' His eyes darted about nervously. 'She could be watching even now…'

The light blue girl giggled. 'You're so _dramatic_, Mort!'

'I'm serious.'

The smile faded from Marion's face. 'I know. I'm just…trying to make the best of things. Our time together should be happy- you should forget your troubles for a while.'

From outside, someone knocked on the door.

'Marion! You're on in five!'

'Stay for the show,' Marion cajoled. 'Please.'

A few minutes later Mort found himself parked at a second-row table with a wobbly leg, whisky in hand, trying to smile and clap along with the others. His girl sang, toying with a feather boa around her shoulders and moving her body to the tune. He was selfish, he thought, selfish, selfish, selfish, _selfish_ to be getting romantically involved with anyone. He deeply cared for Marion, and yet he'd dragged her into this mess. She knew far too much about Vendetta's operation, and frequently leaving the hideout to see her was surely drawing too much attention to himself, which might lead his boss to investigate.

The end of their time together was coming, and Mort only hoped he could end the relationship with her before it became the end of them.

* * *

'Are you just getting in?'

Mort frowned, abandoning his quest to sneak through unnoticed.

'Mort! Vendetta could have your head!' It was always the same. _Don't take one of those cigarettes, Vendetta could have your head. Don't keep going out, Vendetta could have your head. Do this, do that, or else Vendetta could have your head._

'I know.'

'You went to see that showgirl again, didn't you?'

Mort glared at Marvin. 'I just stayed to watch her in ONE SHOW.'

'Hast he returned?' The purple form of Malachi appeared in the passageway.

'He's back all right.'

Mort sighed. 'It's bad enough that the fiends could be watching at any time, without having to answer to you two!'

'I just can't understand how you could even _think_ about seeing someone when you work in such a dangerous profession!' Marvin said. 'You're not thinking straight. Bringing someone else in on all this could get you both killed! In this business you have to look out for yourself.'

Marvin's bluntness was typical of the opinions he normally voiced, but in his heart, he was jealous. He longed to have a normal, comfortable life, and someone to share it with, but now he was stuck in this Vendetta business that was no longer possible.

Long after Malachi and even Mort had gone to sleep, he lay awake, pondering everything. He liked to imagine alternate lives, where he had a normal job, a family, where he could walk out onto the street and say, _Oh hello Mr So-and-so, nice day, _instead of representing fear and mob rule. _Mr Milk, _he would say, _I heard about you and Ms Minty. Congratulations! Oh, and Mort! Marion! How is everything going with you two?_ The fantasy was lulling him into a pleasant, sleepy sense, but he knew that when he opened his eyes again he would have to put it away and face the life he was condemned to.

* * *

The suite was well-decorated for a flat in a dilapidated old apartment building, the floor covered in smooth green and white tiles, which alternated their way across the room. Mode con, green velvet furniture took up some of the space towards the back of the room, and all light, save for a greenish lamp, was blocked out by heavy curtains. An unpleasant, fingernail-scraping sound was heard, as a black snake moved along the tiles, its tail wrapped around a stack of bills.

Undulating towards the centre, it stopped in front of an enormous arm chair. Slender green fingers reached out and snatched the bundle from the snake. For a moment there was no sound other than the flicking of paper, then a Bulgarian accent rang out across the room.

'Eleven hundred. Excellent. Although I am somewhat disappointed I did not get to put my new fiend to good use.' From the darkest corner of the room, a menacing growl sounded, that caused even the other fiends to cower.

'Heh, heh, heh. That fiend will put the fear into my men's hearts. Now bring me my mail.'

The snake's tail presented another bundle, which was promptly snatched, while a hamster, a loyal drone, took the money off to the safe.

The envelope was tossed to the floor.

A minute later a scream rang out.

* * *

Marvin came down to breakfast late. Neglecting to look at the time, he stumbled out of his bed and blundered through the two doorways to the main section of the basement. Malachi and Mort were already sitting around the table, sipping black coffees.

_I could use one of those right now…_Marvin thought, putting a hand to his forehead. If only he could take back a few of the gins he'd knocked back last night.

'My friends! Good morning!' But his friends were looking quite paralysed, gaping at the main door as the form of an enormous hamster entered the room.

* * *

**A/N: And Vendetta has entered. If anyone can guess why she screamed at the letter, you can have a theoretical cookie. Or cupcake. Whichever you would like to pretend to receive. This was a bit of a filler, I admit, but there were some things in there that will be useful later. I have pretty much finished Chapter 3, and the plot will unfold a lot more. Mostly Marion/Mort in this chapter. You people. Look what you've done to me.**


	3. Summoned

Disclaimer: I am the owner of Making Fiends as much as I am a pirate. Wait, if driving illegally without a license is considered piracy…(dun dun dunnnnn) well, I still don't own Making Fiends.

* * *

**III**

_Summoned_

'Oh my!' Mr Milk cried as the glass shattered. 'I…I'm dreadfully sorry! I'll get you another one.'

Marion waved her hand. 'Don't fret, Mr Milk. You worry far too much!'

'I…I'm just feeling down right now,' he sighed, pushing the pieces of glass aside and putting his head in his hands. 'I thought I'd have a ring by now. For her.'

'I know.' She patted his arm. 'It really takes its toll, being messed up with Vendetta's lot.'

'You had a choice though. You could still get out of it if you wanted.'

Marion shook her head, her headpiece swaying. 'No getting out of it now. It'd be risking my life to leave Mort now, and his. Besides, I want to stick it out til the end, no matter what.

'You're so…so _brave.'_

'Not really.' Marion shook her head again. 'I just keep praying we'll all survive this life.'

* * *

All three of the gangsters stared as the large hamster ambled across the floorboards towards them, a note crushed in his huge paw. He gave a grunt, and slammed it on the table.

For a moment they were silent, unable to do anything but look at the dreaded paper, and then, hands shaking, Malachi picked it up and opened it so they could all see:

_I heard of Marvin's efforts regarding the Milk case. He is to come to my suite immediately for work detail._

_**V**_

Marvin swallowed, and the mucus stuck in his throat.

* * *

Marvin's heart fell to the pit of his stomach as the door closed behind him, and he mechanically followed the giant hamster up a rickety staircase, round a corner, up another. Despite the fact that they were ascending, each floor became darker, until they reached the penthouse.

A large set of bottle-green double doors, bordered by a fiendishly-carved stone archway, dominated the murky area. Marvin swallowed again, and the hamster fiend knocked on the door. His knees knocked. The doors opened a few inches, and his legs trembled across the room, the clack of his shoes against the tiles echoing through the large chamber.

_Wasted space_, Marvin thought, as a large section of floor was bare, the furnishings grouped all in one place. He dared not raise his eyes, keeping them low. Even the sight of the legs of the couch, and the green shoes of the person occupying it, filled him with fear.

'Marvin!' the Bulgarian accent reached his ears. She was lying across the couch, waiting for his response. He forced himself to look up into her face. Had it not been stained with a malicious motif, she may have been fairly attractive- decent sized features, a rather lovely profile, but if was the evil glint in her eye, the wicked curl of her mouth, the devious slant of her eyebrows, that made Vendetta so unbearable to look at. She had the word 'evil' all but tattooed across herself. This was the first time Marvin had spoken to her up close, as many of her dealings were done through the hamster, who acted as her secretary, security guard and right hand man.

Being this close to Vendetta herself meant only one thing to Marvin- his end was nigh. He hadn't done a god enough job. He'd been brought here to die,

'I am angry, Marvin.'

The words burst forth from his mouth before he could stop them. 'Please! Have mercy! My life! I-I'll do better, I promise! Please! I wanna live!'

Vendetta found this rather amusing, but waved his cries off. 'I am angry, because I have received a most annoying letter.' She thrust the most annoying letter at him, and he took it with a shaking hand and read it.

_Dear-etta Vendetta,_

_I think all your reply letters to me must have gotten lost in the mail! The last time I saw you was when you gave me that present, and I gave you a present of that money back! Or maybe it was when you got me a pretty bomb for my birthday! I think it flew away, because there was a loud bang and it was gone._

_Don't forget to write, we are friends, remember? I have told all my friends about the wonderful work you do, and how you are so nice to people by letting them borrow money!_

_Best friends forever!_

_Charlotte XXX_

'What does all this have to do with me?' he realised too late that his question may be deemed impertinent and could result in severe punishment.

Vendetta's eyes narrowed, but she answered him anyway.

'This girl, this- stupid- girl, was a client of mine a few years ago. Not only is she stupid, she is an imbecile! Did you not read the letter? She has been telling people about me! About this operation! Everything we do! We cannot afford this indiscretion! I could hardly bear her irritating letters every week, _every week_ for the past two years, but this!' she sounded distressed, but as she continued, her voice crawled back behind its smooth, malicious mask. 'So you see, this girl must be stopped. Shemust be destroyed. And you, Marvin…you will be the one to do it.'

The lump in Marvin's heart trebled in size. 'My…me?'

'I have heard of your work on the last few cases- Gumpit, Morris, Milk- you collected the debts efficiently. Now it is time to put you to the test. I don't care how you do it- with a gun, poison, become her friend and lure her into a trap, a knife, I _don't care_, but wipe the idiotic smile off her face and bring me her head!'

Marvin nodded sycophantically, not daring to speak.

'That is all. Go. The hamster will give you my written instructions.'

He turned towards the doors.

'Oh and Marvin? Need I say that if you fail to carry this out, your head will hang beside hers on above my mantel'.

The firelight suddenly flared, and Marvin turned his head, the split-second image of tortured-looking severed heads on plaques burning onto his brain. Thank goodness he turned away from them before he recognised anyone.

'I've always wanted to put my new fiend to good use.'

A low growl sounded from a dark corner, and he fled, the sound of Vendetta's atrocious laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

Marvin sat up late, using a single candle as his light, studying the thick envelope he had been given. Slitting open the top with his penknife, he shook it, causing the thick stack of papers to land on the table with a thud. He rifled through them.

A description of his soon-to-be victim- her whereabouts, habits, appearance and a photograph he couldn't properly make out in this light. A map, a list of train routes and schedules, and one last threatening letter. He was starting out tomorrow, but he couldn't snatch even a few seconds of sleep, nor did he want to fully read the paperwork just now.

He was about to set out on a mission that could well, no, would certainly, change his life. It would change him, into either a murder victim, or a murderer.

* * *

**Well. Another chapter up. I know it's such a horrible thing to say, what with all the heads and everything, but I am rather having fun writing this fic. I am already part way through ch4. Yes, Marion is very, very OOC, but I reckon it would be worse if I had tried to use Maggie for that character. Hope you liked!**


	4. Starting Out

**IV**

_Starting out_

Malachi opened his eyes, stretched and sat up. Across the room, the blue-grey form of Mort was stirring, but in Marvin's place was an empty bed.

'Mort! Mort!'

Mort groaned and reached for his glasses. 'What?'

'Our comrade hast gone!'

Folded on his cold pillow was a note. They read it together:

_I've been sent on a mission to Clamburg South. There's this girl the boss wants finished off. I AM alive. Wish me luck._

_Marvin_

'Poor Marvin.'

'Afore his time he shalt end a life. May God have mercy on his soul.'

* * *

Originally Clamburg had been much larger, and divided into two regions- Clamburg and its smaller counterpart Clamburg South. The area stretched for miles, until the new development meant Tinspit was built right in the middle, eating up a good third of Clamburg and separating both. In short, Marvin had quite a long way to travel.

The view from the train was uninteresting- grey skies and row after row of ramshackle houses. Marvin turned his attentions towards his assignment, which he hadn't fully looked over last night.

Now, in daylight, it was easier to make out the person in the photograph. For a moment his breath caught in his throat, as the largest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen stared out at him, embedded in the face of a pretty young girl. Perhaps two or three years younger than he, she posed gingerly for the camera, big blue curls sitting on her shoulders, tied in a bow.

It would be a shame to destroy something so beautiful, Marvin thought. But the other paper in his hand reminded him of his predicament.

_Because I am feeling generous, I will give you so much as a month to complete the mission. You should not need this long. Gain her trust, so you can get close enough to finish the job. Knowing Charlotte, this shouldn't be hard. Finish her off, and __**make sure we are not implicated in any way.**_

_If you should fail, remember I have plenty of plaques above my mantelpiece, all perfect size for your head_

_**V**_

Marvin laid his head against the seat, staring at the empty seat opposite, concentrating on the checked pattern of the torn fabric to blot out the image of the heads above the mantel from his memory.

So neatly mounted on plaques, about four or five, several more polished wooden slots waiting, waiting for heads, waiting for his head…

No. No.

He would turn his thoughts to the task at hand. It would be quick, ti would soon be over and he would live. He had a while before the train arrived in Tinspit. He'd had no sleep last night. He could catch up on some now.

* * *

Mr Milk was running low on glasses. He had dropped four in five days. The bar was empty, the tables were sans people, the stage was not alive with dancers right now. It was early enough to slip out. He started down the street, avoiding the mud and puddles that were scattered over the road, heading towards the general store. A sudden chill went through him as he passed the old apartment building at the end of the road. Darkened and apparently unused for years, it sat like an ominous presence over the town. Mr Milk was sure he'd seen a shadowy figure move about the topmost windows, but then again, Mr Milk was something of a paranoid man, and fear-induced fantasies were not unknown to him. He turned his face away from the building and continued on his mission.

* * *

It was getting dark as Marvin finally stepped off the train, stretching his legs and dragging his bags through the unfamiliar station. He checked his pocket watch. Two hours behind schedule. He'd booked a room at a nearby hotel- he only hoped they hadn't given it away.

As he made his way down the street it started to rain, the droplets hammering against his hat. Up ahead Marvin saw the glow of lights, and made out the large sign reading _Hotel._ He'd almost made it.

Dashing to avoid being further soaked, he charged across the street and pushed his way through the door. The girl at the front desk surveyed him with a bored expression.

'We're closed.'

'Oh, ' said Marvin, 'I have a reservation.'

She drummed her fingers on the table, flicking through her book. 'Oh, of course. Sign here.'

He took the pen she offered him. 'Are you all right?'

The girl seemed rather taken aback for a moment, then rolled her eyes. 'I'm depressed.'

'Is there anything I can do to help?'

'No, thankyou. I'm always depressed. What else can we be in this miserable world?'

Marvin didn't answer as he took his key and stumped up the stairs, but he couldn't help thinking she was right.

* * *

Having unloaded his bags in his room and changed, Marvin came back downstairs, now aware of his overpowering hunger.

'Is the dining room still open?'

The girl at the desk looked up from her paperwork and shrugged. 'Should be. I suppose I'd better show you the way.'

Hearing the hostile strain in her voice, Marvin began to regret asking as he followed her into the large open room.

A crackling log fire illuminated the area, and he seated himself by it for warmth. The girl fetched him a menu and a glass of brandy, which he downed instantly.

'You headed for Clamburg then?' she asked, perching on the table.

'No, I came from there. I'm going to Clamburg South.'

'Horrible place.' As she said this Marvin wondered if there was anywhere in the world this woman would NOT describe as horrible.

'What are you, tax man or something?'

Marvin swallowed. 'My, me?'

'Yeah. You look the type. So are you?'

'Something like that,' Marvin muttered, running his blue-green finger along the menu.

'Bit of advice. You see a blue girl there, run for your life. Bloody cheery idiot.'

'Is her name…Charlotte?'

'That's the one. You know her?'

'My….no. Just heard of her.'

'Yeah, well. At least you were warned. Couldn't shake her off me. My second husband had just died and she was just being so unashamedly chirpy…anyway, the waiter's here. I'd better go.' She stood up.

'See you around. Name's Marvin.' Marvin kicked himself as he said it, he was planning to use a fake name but for some reason he couldn't help connecting with this girl. He may be seeing more of her after all- he'd need places to stay, abd possibly an alibi or two.

'Maggie.'

He thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile on her gloomy face. 'See ya.'

* * *

Marvin lay swaddled in the scratchy, unfamiliar blankets, tired but unable to sleep. Leaning over and reaching for his coat, which lay draped over the foot of the bed, he fished out the photograph and studied it again. The girl remained in the same position, smiling out from the ink and gloss. Maggie had condemned her for being cheery, but in this dark world, maybe what everyone needed was a bit of cheer? Besides, she didn't look all that bad. He was enthralled by a person he had never met.

'I'm sorry,' he muttered, running a finger along the face in the picture. 'I wish it didn't have to be this way. I would have loved to get to know you.'

He placed the photograph on his bedside table and turned out the lamp, letting the darkness close in around him.

* * *

**Only a filler, I know, but Maggie was introduced, and she is going to be in it a lot more. There may be some onesided Maggie/Marvin depending on how I go, or Magachi, or both. **

**Charlotte is coming, don't worry. Next chapter. Promise.**

**Rose**


	5. Charlotte

**V**

_Charlotte_

'Where art thou going?'

Mort sighed and slumped his shoulders, hand still on the doorhandle. 'Just out.'

'Thou art going to see thine saucy wench, art thou not?'

'Malachi…'

'Thou shouldst watch thyself- thou knows not what you fiendmaker can see.'

'Malachi,' Mort said again, 'I know Vendetta might be watching,' (Malachi shivered at the mention of their boss' name), 'I know she could have my head, but I wanna get out and see Marion while I still can. Marvin leaving the other day made me realise- any one of us could be called to do a mission like that, at any time, and then that'll be it. It'll be over- Vendetta's not going to be happy with however it turns out, and then we're dead. I wanna live my life while I still have the chance.'

He pulled open the door and stepped out into the night.

'Just remember mine words- thou art endangering yon showgirl…' Malachi called after him. Mort paused, the words sinking into his brain. Of course he was endangering Marion, how could he be so stupid as to keep seeing her? He would have to end it with her- tonight.

* * *

Marvin awoke to a filter or greyish morning light, spilling through the holes in the old curtains of his room and across the floor. He groaned and turned over, intending to go back to sleep, when the photograph of the girl caught his eye.

'My mission!' he murmured, sitting up at once. This was the moment he'd dreaded- today he would take the two hour trip to Clamburg South, and start to plan this lovely girl's demise.

'Hey.'

Marvin looked around for the voice, and jumped at the sight of Maggie, perched atop his dresser, a steaming cup in hand. 'Though you might wanna cup of tea.'

'Thanks!' the blue-green mobster took it gratefully, and surveyed his companion. Maggie seemed in no brighter humour than yesterday, her eyes were still glazed with the misery of someone whose life is not worth living, but he detected the ever so faint trace of a smile as she passed him the cup.

'You goin' out today?'

Marvin grimaced. 'Yeah.'

'Lotta tax to sort out?'

'Huh?' Marvin remembered last night- he had let her think he was a tax man. It was safer that way, after all. 'Oh, yeah. I'll probably be back tonight.'

There, that faint trace of a smile was back. The girl had taken some sort of a shine to him- in what way he wasn't sure, but Marvin supposed it would be nice to have a friend around, in such dark times.

* * *

Malachi was sitting with his Bible, pondering the meaning of life, when the door was flung open.

'Ah, Mort, thou hast returned,' he murmured without looking up, 'And how…' his speech was interrupted by a loud, beastly grunt, and the purple gangster jumped to see the lumbering form of Vendetta's giant hamster approached, clutching a scrunched note in his paws.

_You will report to me straight away. I need to discuss with you Marvin's mission. You will have a role. Failure to report will result in me having your head._

_**V**_

Malachi shuddered as he read the note. Mort was right- they could get called up at any time, and he despaired of the idea that he may be forced to have a hand in the murder of one of the boss' enemies.

Trembling from head to foot, he approached Vendetta's suite, a deep dark sense of foreboding growing within him. The room was in its usual dark state, a number of insect fiends as big as tennis balls scuttling across the tiles. Malachi trod carefully, trying to avoid them, and knowing that their bite would almost certainly bring death.

'Malachi.'

He jumped and turned to see the fiendmaker sitting, composed, in her armchair, watching him. 'I take it you do not like my spider fiends…'

Malachi shivered, not trusting his voice not to break if he tried to answer her.

'Malachi,' Vendetta went on, 'you have heard about Marvin's mission, I trust?'

Malachi nodded. 'V-verily…'

'Well, then, you should know then, that, should he fail, I shall require someone else to carry out his task… in those circumstances I shall also require his _head.'_ The purple boy swallowed, he knew what was to follow and he felt his stomach knot.

'Malachi, should Marvin not complete his task in thirty days, you shall travel to Clamburg South, you shall find him, and bring me both his head and that stupid Charlotte's. Failure to do so, and, well…' she grinned, a menacing creepy smile, 'sufficed to say, my new fiend will be happy to oblige.'

The menacing growl from the corner of the room set Malachi's teeth on edge, just as it had Marvin's.

'Please…what doest thou want with me? I am sure thine top agent will complete thine task…'

'Malachi, you can be sure that if you do not do as you are told…' the 'new fiend' growled again, and it was unnecessary for Vendetta to finish. He would be taking on the mission- and perhaps, for his own neck's sake, he would have to put that of his friend on the line.

* * *

Marvin didn't know what he'd been expecting- but he hadn't expected this at all. He thought Clamburg South would be gloomy. It wasn't. He thought it would be just like the home he left behind. It wasn't.

It was hard to believe this place had ever been connected to the Clamburg he knew- its bright skies and busy streets filled with lively people startled him. Never had he seen so much action in such a small place.

The hit man pulled the photograph out of his pocket and studied it discreetly. He knew what he was looking for, but in a place with such a large population, how was he to find it?

'Hi stranger!' a cheery voice cooed, and Marvin spun around to see none other than the girl from the photo staring straight at him, a wide, bright smile etched across her blue face. 'I saw you come in from the station! Are you new here? Are you gonna move into the old Mayor's place? Are you on a holiday- ooh, are you a tourist?' She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, chattering and shooting more random questions at him than he had time or breath to answer. 'What's your name? Mine's Charlotte! You have a pretty suitcase! I like your hat! Have you ever….'

_Was she like this with everyone?_ Marvin wondered. He could see why the boss would find a girl like this annoying- overly friendly, speaking her mind whenever she had a thought, cheery, innocent- everything Vendetta hated, this girl was the very antithesis of her. His thoughts returned to Maggie, too- she had despised Charlotte's constant cheeriness, but then, Maggie despised almost everything, from what he could gather. And to be honest, he found that sort of childlike naivety….well, really cute, to be honest.

Marvin turned, staring the girl full in the face for the first time, and his breath was taken away.

The picture did NOT do her justice. The girl's wide eyes twinkled with some otherworldly light, full of love and kindness and goodness, and every virtue the mobster could name. Her thick, long lashes fluttered as he watched her, her smile seemed to make her face positively glow.

Why, why was it necessary to destroy someone like this- it was so rare, in these dark times, to find someone who could find the goodness in life and accentuate it. But Marvin had a job to do, whether he liked it or not, and now he'd found his prey, he had to put together a plan to destroy her.

_Gain her trust, _the letter had said. _Get close to her. Finish her off. Make sure we are not implicated._

Four, simple sounding steps- in theory, but Marvin knew they were easier said than done.

'So, er, Charlotte,' he turned to the blue girl, who simpered prettily at him, 'do you, er, would you like to go for a drink?'

'Oh, boy, that sounds fun! Yippee!' Charlotte said. 'I know all the best places! Let's go!' And she took his offered arm, and skipped alongside him, singing to herself a little song she'd made up herself.

Marvin mentally drew up his list.

_Stage One: Gain her trust. _This wouldn't be hard, Charlotte was already going off with him, within mere minutes of meeting him. Stage One was underway.

* * *

**Yeah, I wasn't that happy with this chapter, but I had no plan for it, and I have planned the next 5 out.**

**Now, I ask for a vote, should the next chapter deal with:**

**a) Mort's breakup with Marion**

**b) Marvin's date with Charlotte**

**c) Vendetta and her brilliant fiend we haven't seen yet**

**d) Malachi setting out and meeting Maggie**

**?**

**Please review with your choice!**


	6. Stage One: Gain Her Trust

**Yeah, I don't own it. Quicker update this time, but I was at school at 6:30 am and I thought, what can I do? I know, write some Making Fiends fic!**

* * *

**VI**

_Stage One: Gain her Trust_

They found themselves in a pleasant-looking tavern downtown, where Marvin ordered them mint juleps and set to work charming Charlotte. Everything he did reminded him of his mission- when buying the drinks, it would have been so easy, he thought, to slip something deadly into her glass- but then Marvin didn't have any poisons on him, and there were too many witnesses. Best stick with the original plan- gain her trust, get close, _then_ finish her off.

'So, what is your name?' Charlotte asked, her wide eyes on him as he sat down opposite her.

'My name- is Marvin,' he stated, noticing as he did so that his former habit of beginning his sentences with a possessive phrase had returned- something that now usually only happened when he was nervous. Charlotte didn't seem to notice, though.

'That's a pretty name! Where do you come from? Are you gunna stay for a long time? What-'

'Hey, hey, slow down,' Marvin laughed, enjoying her company without intending to. 'One at a time! I can't answer all those at once!' he paused, thinking. What was he supposed to tell her? He'd already given his real name- again- something, now he came to think about it, he really shouldn't have done- but that meant nothing when she was….he gulped….dead. But what else was he at liberty to divulge? He supposed the best thing to do was stick to the story he'd told Maggie- that he was a tax man.

'Uh, I come from, er, Clamburg…' he cursed inwardly, but Clamburg was huge, that didn't necessarily mean she'd guess he was part of the mafia, 'and I, uh, I came down here, just for a month, to collect taxes.'

'Ooh, taxes!' Charlotte, to his surprise, seemed genuinely interested and listened intently as he struggled to come up with a few more details.

'Maybe you should do my tax,' she said when he finished, 'that would be so much fun!'

'Er…' Marvin began, but as he opened his mouth to speak he realised the possibilities. Going to 'do her tax' as the blue girl put it might give him a better opportunity to get her alone and finish the job…

'Clamburg?' Charlotte said suddenly. The pair had finished their drinks and were headed for the door. 'I have a friend who lives in Clamburg! Her name's Vendetta and she's so nice!'

Marvin's throat went dry.

_Vendetta? Nice?_

* * *

Mort was going to return to an empty room.

Malachi sighed as he packed his case, looking across at Marvin's bed. It was a no-win situation. Either Marvin would have to take a life, or he would have to not only commit murder, but see to the demise of one of his best friends ,too. But what was the alternative? Gruesome death at the hands of one of Vendetta's fiends? It was too horrible to contemplate.

The purple gangster wasn't needed at the scene for another month yet, but at Vendetta's suggestion (and it was best not to ignore those, for when the fiendmaker said 'suggestion' she really meant 'order') he was heading out to Tinspit tonight to check on Marvin's progress and to gather various pieces of information on this girl Vendetta wanted finished. Marvin, he was told, already had all the info he would need, and a readthrough of this would suffice, she was not feeling generous enough to make two copies.

Malachi slid his Bible into the suitcase and did it up. Sighing once more, he took a last look at his room and headed outside. The weather was getting colder, the sun already low in the azure sky and orangeish leaves falling from the trees and skittering along the pavements. Malachi ducked into an alleyway as someone walked past, trying to conceal his presence and the existence of Vendetta's 'business'. As far as the town knew, the apartment building where his boss conducted her operations was vacant, and always would be. Rumours went round that it was haunted, and in all honesty, it was better things stayed that way. If they ever knew the truth…well, it didn't bear thinking about.

Malachi made it down to the station without being spotted, and boarded the next train. He had a while to wait before he reached his destination, so he took out his Bible and tried to find solace in its pages.

* * *

By the time Marvin returned to the Tinspit Hotel, it was dark and he was exhausted and overwhelmed. After their date, he had spent a further four hours with Charlotte, as she showed him around town, paying unnaturally close attention to every 'pretty, pretty feature, and they had ended their tour at what Charlotte called the 'Old Mayor's Place'- a spacious-looking house up for rent. As he chatted with the blue girl, she constantly pointed out how convenient it would be if he were to take the lease, as he could remain in Clamburg the whole time he was 'doing his tax rounds'.

To this, Marvin had replied he would think about it, and left it at that, but he noted with a mix or pride and sadness that Charlotte gave her trust away too easily. She had only met him this afternoon, and already he knew almost her whole life story. The green-blue boy was sure at one point she'd added the phrase 'now you're my boyfriend,' to the mix, and this, while ensuring he'd get to see a lot more of her, could be potentially problematic. From what Marvin could see, Charlotte was perfectly happy to tell anyone anything- the very reason why Vendetta's organisation would go under if she wasn't destroyed soon- and with her big mouth soon the whole town would recognise him, and it would be harder for him to carry out the deed without someone suspecting him.

He ran a hand through his hair. This was very tricky.

'You're back.' Maggie looked up from her desk as he walked through the foyer. 'You look like hell. Wanna drink?

Marvin accepted gratefully and allowed his hostess to lead him to the bar. Even after one day he could notice her warming to him- and was that almost a pleasant expression? Did she consider him a friend?

How many people were going to get hurt in this mission? He knew Maggie would not be happy when he up and left, and when she found out the true purpose of his quest…

'Rough day, huh?' the dark blue girl slid a glass of whisky across the bar and he downed it instantly. 'I know the feeling,' she went on, not allowing him a chance to reply, 'this dump might seem empty now, but on bank holidays it fills up like you wouldn't believe. Bankers, merchants, ordinary idiots, everyone heads up to Clamburg or down to Clamburg South to see their families, and I get stuck with their whining…' she stopped her rant to swallow her whisky, 'Like I said, you're not the only one who has it tough. So what, you collect a lotta tax?'

'Er….'Marvin began, but his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the bell at the front desk. Maggie hastily stood up and moved to answer it.

'We're closed,' Marvin heard her say from reception, and then another voice sounded, speaking low and fast, so he couldn't make out what it was saying.

'Oh, sure,' Maggie said, 'He's right in here…Marvin!' her head stuck round the door, 'some guy here to see you…'

That didn't sound good. Anyone out looking for him was trouble- likely one of Vendetta's goons, and he shuddered at the thought, stepping tentatively into the foyer. He braced himself…

'Malachi!' The blue-green hit man found himself bowled-over with surprise. 'My, uh, what…'

'Take heed, Marvin,' his friend said, 'I hast traversed to thine abode to warn thee of a situation most unholy…' both sets of eyes darted involuntarily towards Maggie.

'Er, perhaps we should talk about this upstairs,' Marvin said, 'My room! Is the first one on the left.'

Malachi nodded. 'A veritable suggestion. And good morrow to thee, maiden,' he said, tipping his hat to Maggie before turning and heading toward the stairs. As Marvin made to join them, he could have sworn he saw Maggie smile- a proper smile.

* * *

Mort had spent all day with Marion, trying as hard as he might to put off the inevitable, but his girlfriend had noticed even from the beginning that something was wrong. Now, back in Marion's dressing room after her last show of the evening, he knew his time was up. He had vowed to end it with her _today_, and the minutes of _today_ were running out.

Mort realised his glasses were steaming up as he took a good long look at the girl he loved. He didn't want to lose her! But Malachi was right- it was far better to lose her as a girlfriend than to lose her altogether- to have her subject to the mercy of Vendetta and the fiends. No, he had to do it, for her sake.

He steeled himself and cleared his throat. 'Marion?'

'Uh huh?' she looked up, surprised at his expression. 'What's wrong, Mort?'

'I think we should break up.'

* * *

**Yeah I didn't actually get round to much Marion/Mort this time around, but I've left it at a bit of a cliffie...I'll pick up the next chapter with where they left off. Not the best chap, I know, but I'm tired.**


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